


Cancelling the Apocalypse

by fabrega



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Drift Compatibility, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 19:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20296678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/pseuds/fabrega
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley face the Apocalypse - in a jaeger.





	Cancelling the Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [smarshtastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic) and [fits_in_frames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames) for the beta. ♥

In the beginning, there were the kaiju.

The Global Oceanic Defense Corps had created the jaeger program to watch over humanity, to protect it. And it had worked, and it was good, like the Global Oceanic Defense Corps had presumably known it would be. The kaiju were defeated, the breach was closed, and humanity was saved.

Afterwards was when it started to go wrong. With no external enemy to fight, the jaeger program turned on itself. Factions developed. The marshal at the Sydney shatterdome started asking questions, questions that the Global Oceanic Defense Corps didn't seem inclined to answer. There was a schism, of a sort, and the Global Oceanic Defense Corps cast out the troublemakers, saying what amounted to _if you think you can do better, you're welcome to try_.

The Sydney 'dome was the cast-out faction's base of operations, while the ones who remained faithful to the Global Oceanic Defense Corps were headquartered at the LA 'dome. Someone trying to be clever looked at the two factions--one loyal to their creators and based in Los Angeles, the other without the blessing of its creator and based Down Under--and nicknamed them the Angels and the Demons.

The nicknames stuck.

Aziraphale, Global Oceanic Defense Corps ranger, is an Angel. He rather likes the moniker, likes how it implies that he is a guardian of humanity, with humanity's best interests at heart.

He has his own jaeger, Sceptre Tartan. It's brand new, and he'll be copiloting it with Gabriel, his partner from the War. This assignment is his reward for his service: a jaeger and a reasonably-sized patch of ocean to patrol, with a large, inhabited island that's under his protection. And so he and Sceptre, with their flaming sword and their plasma cannon, they'll carry out HQ's orders and stand between humanity and the things that would harm them. It's what he signed up for, what he's good at, and he's looking forward to doing it for a long, long time.

* * *

He loses the flaming sword almost immediately.

Well, alright, perhaps _lose_ isn't exactly the right word. It's possible that _give away_ is more the phrase he's looking for, although he'll never admit that to HQ. There's a--well, a _situation_, a sort of hurricane situation, and the best way to solve it, to keep the people he's meant to be protecting safe, is to detach the sword from Sceptre and use it to bolster their coastal defenses. They need it more than he does, and besides, it's not like Sceptre doesn't still have the plasma cannon. He can feel Gabriel's disapproval in the drift, but he outranks Gabriel, and the Corps is big on hierarchy.

There's a Demon jaeger there too, one that looks a lot like Sceptre. It identifies itself as Monarch Ophidia, with pilots who introduce themselves as Crowley and Hastur. (That is, Crowley introduces himself, on the loudspeaker. Hastur is apparently grumpy about the whole situation, and Crowley ends up introducing him.) They make a big show of posturing, Sceptre lighting up the flaming sword and waving it threateningly, before the storm hits and all the excitement starts.

They're on opposite sides, it's true, but Aziraphale figures that there will be time to fight later, if they have to. Things are happening right now that are bigger than them.

The hurricane comes in, the wind and the waves battering the island, the coastal settlement, the jaegers. Sceptre leans up against Monarch, bracing them both against the storm.

* * *

Aziraphale doesn't put the part about the flaming sword in his report back to HQ. He very much hopes they won't ask.

* * *

Aziraphale meets Crowley shortly after that. He's ventured out of the one-jaeger 'dome that HQ set up for Sceptre and into the nearby city, determined to reward himself for a job well done. This reward takes the shape of a warm, flaky pastry and a hot cocoa at a small local bakery. It's one of the places that Aziraphale knows would've been flooded, if the hurricane situation had been allowed to get out of hand, but he's not here for any sort of recognition or accolades--just a pastry.

"Cocoa for Mr. Fell?" the woman behind the counter calls.

"Ooh, that's me," Aziraphale says. He smiles at her and thanks her and takes the cocoa, gratefully.

He takes his cocoa and his apple turnover and sits at a table by the window. He's sitting there, enjoying his hard-earned reward, when someone at the next table says his name.

Aziraphale looks up. The man at the next table is staring at him from behind a pair of dark glasses. He's a lanky redhead, dressed in all black. His hair is half-pulled back from his face, and he's got a mug cradled in his hands.

"Didn't expect to run into you out and about," the man says. It takes Aziraphale a moment, but he finally places the voice: he'd heard it last over the jaeger's loudspeaker.

"Crowley?"

The man nods, while motioning for Aziraphale to keep his voice down. He gets up from his own table and slides into the chair across from Aziraphale.

Aziraphale isn't sure if he should be doing that. It also seems likely, given what he knows about the Demons, that he can't stop him.

"So," Crowley says, his voice low, almost conspiratorial, "Is this your beat?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Has the Almighty HQ put this area under your jurisdiction? Or have you and Sceptre just popped in for a visit?"

Aziraphale lifts his cup of cocoa to his lips, takes a long, hot sip. He's trying to stay cool, trying to evaluate Crowley, how much of what he's asking is information-gathering and how much is professional courtesy. The official line from HQ is that the Demons are _wily. _"I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell you that."

"It's _my_ beat," Crowley says, like he hasn't heard Aziraphale refuse to answer his question. "Monarch's stationed up the coast a ways. HQ built us a cute little 'dome." When Aziraphale doesn't say anything, he adds, "Hastur hates it."

Aziraphale allows himself a little smile. "It didn't sound like he likes much of anything."

Crowley laughs, a little nastily. "The inside of his head is not a pleasant place; I can tell you that."

"Then why drift with him?"

Crowley shrugs. That's not an answer, but he acts like it might be. "Nice jaeger, by the way. The flaming sword is really impressive."

Aziraphale blanches.

"What?"

Aziraphale struggles for a moment to keep his composure, and then it bursts out of him: "I gave it away."

Crowley looks gobsmacked. "You what?!"

"I _gave_ it _away_," Aziraphale repeats miserably. He looks out the front window of the bakery; they can see the coastal wall from here, can see where the heat of the flames had fused what's left of the flaming sword into the hole, closing the gap and holding the sea at bay. It doesn't look like there's a way to remove it without pulling the whole thing down.

"I hope I did the right thing," Aziraphale says quietly.

"Me too," Crowley says. Aziraphale wants to ask, but Crowley is already on his feet. He says, "I'm sure I'll see you around," and then he's gone.

Aziraphale gets back to his turnover, but somehow, it's not the same.

* * *

Time passes, as time does. Aziraphale does his job, he and Gabriel and their jaeger making things on the island better a little bit at a time. He settles in. He gets comfortable.

Gabriel says that Aziraphale has gone native. Gabriel says a lot of things, all of them with a smile, none of them very nice.

Gabriel starts spending more time in LA at HQ, only flying in when they have a mission to do.

Aziraphale gets very good at compartmentalizing, at closing off parts of his mind during the drift. Nobody notices, or maybe nobody cares.

* * *

Aziraphale already has an inkling that something is wrong when Crowley shows up agitated at their usual spot in the park. Gabriel seems even more smug than usual when he gets back from HQ, and the staff at Sceptre's shatterdome are all whispering about something new that's happening, something big. In all the time Aziraphale has spent on this job, it's never felt like this.

"My lot are planning for war," Crowley says sourly, dropping onto the park bench.

Aziraphale's inklings had not prepared him for _that_. He nearly starts out of his seat. "What? With whom?"

"With your lot, obviously."

"I can't--that can't be true," Aziraphale splutters. "I don't believe it."

Crowley fixes him with a look. "How long have we been friends?"

"We're not friends!" They're an Angel and a Demon--they _can't_ be friends. Crowley must know that, just as well as Aziraphale does.

Crowley rolls his eyes behind his dark glasses. "Okay, well, then how long have we known each other?"

_Years and years_, Aziraphale thinks. Their respective HQs have had them both stationed here for what feels like aeons, and while Sceptre doesn't actually see much of Monarch, Aziraphale has seen quite a bit of Crowley. They've run into each other a lot as time has gone on, strategically at first, and then sort of socially. They meet in the park, on buses, at the art museum, over pastries at the bakery they like. They swap stories, favors, even occasionally intel. They smile at each other.

Aziraphale loves his job and believes in the Corps' mission, but he'd be lying if he said that there weren't times that he felt like Crowley understood the job--and _him_\--better than anybody at HQ did.

He also knows how much trouble they'd both be in if HQ found out.

"Long enough," Aziraphale says quietly. "We've known each other long enough."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Angel. Not about this."

Something Aziraphale refuses to name flutters in his stomach. "So, war."

"The big one. We'll have to stop it, of course," Crowley continues, matter-of-factly.

"Will we?" The question slips out before Aziraphale can stop it. "I would think that if it's what HQ want, we won't have much say in it.

Crowley fixes him with a serious look. "If we don't, what do you think will be left for us afterwards?" He gestures expansively around them.

Aziraphale looks around--at the park, at the city, at the island. There are so many fragile things here he'd lose if the two sides went to war, so many things that he, well. Things that he _cares_ for.

He looks at Crowley.

* * *

Sandalphon arrives from HQ shortly after that, and he gives Gabriel and Aziraphale a briefing on the Demons' plan.

"As you know, the Corps implemented the Kaiju-Resistant Shielding Technology on the breach site some time ago. I'm not exaggerating when I say that this technology has _literally_ saved humanity," Sandalphon says.

Next to Aziraphale, Gabriel nods enthusiastically. Aziraphale wonders how much of this he's heard already.

"We've received word that the Demons have found a way to counteract it. Not only that, once they've bypassed it, they're planning on bringing back a kaiju. Word is it's larger than anything the Corps has ever taken down before, built for maximum destruction. Category Six."

Aziraphale doesn't have to pretend to be properly surprised by this. When Crowley had said _the end of the world_, he'd never imagined--

"We'll have to stop it, of course," Aziraphale says automatically.

Gabriel starts laughing. "Why would we stop it?"

Aziraphale looks to Sandalphon, who doesn't seem to be disagreeing with Gabriel.

"If we let it come through, we'll finally have an excuse to defeat the Demons once and for all," Gabriel says. "We'll fight them and their kaiju, and we'll win."

"But--"

Sandalphon cuts him off. "You'll be called up, when the time comes. One way or another, it's the end of the world as we know it, and you'll be needed."

"Sceptre will be there!" Gabriel says, at the same time as Aziraphale says: "The end of the world." He'd been hoping it would sound less terrible if he said it, but it really, really doesn't.

* * *

He calls Crowley later that night, after the other Angels have headed back to HQ. They meet up at Aziraphale's place, a small flat he rents above a bookshop.

They get drunk.

"You have to have a plan," Aziraphale repeats, peering down into his glass. Crowley did not have a plan the last time he'd said this, but that had been nearly thirty seconds ago; surely he's come up with something by now.

He'll fight, if he has to, because it's hard to believe that HQ's plan could be as bad as it seems. They're HQ; if he didn't trust their judgement, who the hell would he be? But if they can stop it before it gets to the fighting, surely that's the best outcome for everyone. _Surely_.

Crowley has to have a plan.

"It's a kaiju," Crowley says from his seat on the couch. "It's not like we can change its mind."

"Seems a bit risky, if you ask me, summoning a bloody great monster that almost certainly won't do what you ask it to."

Crowley nods emphatically. "What if it gets here and decides that it would rather mess about than cause havoc?"

"Look at a reef, eat a dolphin or two."

"I saw some dolphins once. Whole pod of 'em. Went by my jaeger, offshore, back during the War. We waved at 'em," Crowley says, in that particular drunk and thoughtful tone of voice.

"Just gobble up a few and go home," Aziraphale says, ignoring him.

"'s better for the dolphins, innit, if it just eats a couple. Well, not better for those particular dolphins, but, y'know, dolphins generally. General dolphins."

"The end of the world," Aziraphale says again. "The end of dolphins. The end of all fish."

"'s not a fish." Crowley is insistent.

"End of all mammals, probably. End of everything"

It's a sobering thought, and they both go quiet. Aziraphale looks down at his glass, then up at Crowley.

"If the kaiju and the weapons we use don't destroy everything, the kaiju blood definitely will. All that will be left is us." Crowley pauses; he must see the way Aziraphale's eyes go big. "Well, one of our sides, at least."

"You have to have a plan," Aziraphale says again. He can't bear to think about an existence without...dolphins. Without everything.

He leans forward in his seat, eager to hear what the plan is, but Crowley just looks at him.

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Crowley asks. He shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, staring upwards.

Aziraphale looks upward too, taking in the familiar sight of Sceptre Tartan. "Got any better ideas? Got one single better idea?"

Crowley grumbles, but does not offer a better idea. They've tried a lot of plans, in the time since they'd first heard about the impending war, and none of them have worked. It's come down to this.

They make their way to the Ready Room, where they both get suited up as quickly and quietly as they can, and then sneak up into Sceptre's conn-pod.

"You're sure about this?" Crowley asks again.

Aziraphale sighs. They've been over this a dozen times. The staff at the 'dome have been doing this for long enough that there's no reason for them not to trust Aziraphale when he says they have a mission, and the Corps generally have become rather complacent lately about things that aren't preparation for the war with the Demons. As long as Crowley doesn't speak on the comms, everyone will think that he's Gabriel and they won't be discovered until it's too late to stop them.

"Not about the plan," Crowley says, before Aziraphale can scold him again. "We have to cancel the Apocalypse. That's, y'know, non-negotiable, and you're right, I don't have any better ideas. But are you sure about _this_?" He gestures at the equipment they're about to hook themselves up to.

"About drifting?"

"About being inside my head," Crowley says. He looks down, away, not meeting Aziraphale's eyes.

Aziraphale isn't sure, not really. As good as he is at compartmentalizing in the drift with Gabriel, he knows that works only because he and Gabriel have been doing this for so long. For this to work, he can't have any parts of himself closed off from Crowley, even--especially--the parts he wants to hide.

He doesn't even know if they're drift compatible. Maybe they won't be. Maybe this will all be for nothing.

There's only one way to find out.

"Of course I'm sure," Aziraphale lies. He's probably overcompensating on amount of bluster in his voice. He's never been all that good at lying, and he's certain Crowley knows it.

Crowley settles into the left-side harness without asking. That's fine with Aziraphale, who rides on the right with his usual copilot.

Once they're all hooked up, Aziraphale keys Sceptre's intercom and lets the control room know that they're ready to go. A voice comes back that says**,** "Pilot-to-pilot protocol engaged. Initiating neural handshake." Aziraphale looks over at Crowley, and then they're both sucked under by their own memories, into the drift--

_\--the first mission in Monarch, in Sceptre, the storm coming in, the rain battering the jaeger--_

_\--all the way up the coast, Crowley says, a six hour round-trip for a thirty minute mission, surely we don't _ ** _both _ ** _have to go up there, and Aziraphale feels his own mix of panic and affectionate resignation, he knows he's not going to win this coin toss--_

_\--it's Crowley's first day as a Ranger for the Corps, he and his copilot have been assigned to Centauri Aleph, the first of the Mark-3's, and he's swelling with pride as he looks up at the jaeger, _ ** _his _ ** _jaeger--_

_\--they're standing side by side in the Rococo room of the art museum while they compare notes, nearly friendly, Aziraphale studies the painting in front of them as he talks, the light, the texture of the fabrics, the expressions, as he tries not to look at Crowley, but now he can feel Crowley's side of it too, watching from the outside as Crowley very pointedly does not look at him too--_

_\--Crowley watches from across the bakery as Aziraphale gets his cocoa, doing his best to hide behind his mug of tea, and Aziraphale sees himself through Crowley's memories as Crowley slides into the seat across from him, and he wonders how Crowley looks through his own eyes--_

_\--Aziraphale and Gabriel both punch up in unison and their jaeger does too, the uppercut hitting the kaiju with a visceral thud that knocks it backwards, and Gabriel whoops with elation--_

_\--Aziraphale looks up at the sound of his name and Crowley's staring at him through the bars of the jail cell as they open, saying that he knows the warden and it'll all be fine as Aziraphale tries to explain that this was all a mistake, and he can feel the fondness as Crowley looks at him--_

_\--Marshal Morningstar gathers them all in the Shatterdome and makes an announcement, HQ have officially Cast Them Out, word has come from the Almighty Asshole herself, and around him everyone is cheering but Crowley, Crowley isn't cheering, the feeling in Crowley's gut is something steely--_

_\--if the Demons find out, they won't just be angry, Aziraphale says, they'll _ ** _destroy_ ** _ you, and Crowley just shrugs and grins, like they don't both know that the Demons' preferred method of dealing with the unfaithful in their ranks is to have them stomped to death by their own jaegers, not just killed but really, truly destroyed, and Aziraphale doesn't know what he'd do if--_

_\--you're soft, Gabriel says, and he's not wrong, but it sounds so much like an insult when he says it--_

_\--I don't understand why you like this shithole so much, Hastur says with a scoff, and Crowley thinks that of course he doesn't understand, he's probably never going to understand--_

_\--we could go off together, Crowley says, and for one long moment, heart in his throat, Aziraphale actually considers it, but he knows that they can't, they're an Angel and a Demon and besides, it's the end of the world, where would they even go--_

_\--Aziraphale hears a familiar voice over the bookshelf, and he nearly leaps up out of his seat to see Crowley placing an order at the bookstore cafe, they've only run into each other a few times since they'd first met and Aziraphale really shouldn't be fraternizing with the enemy, but he and Crowley are in the same boat, so to speak, and so it doesn't feel all that strange for Aziraphale to approach Crowley this time, not the other way around, and Crowley must feel the same way because he smiles when he sees Aziraphale--_

_\--if we don't, Crowley says, what do you think will be left for us afterwards, and Aziraphale looks out at the park, and Crowley, Aziraphale realizes, looks at him--_

\--and the Angel in the control room says: _neural handshake complete_.

Aziraphale raises his hand and wiggles his fingers in front of his face. Crowley does the same thing in tandem, and out of the front of the conn-pod, they can see Sceptre's fingers doing the same.

Aziraphale grins.

"You knew I was rigging the coin tosses?" Crowley says, like that's the most important thing that either one of them saw in the drift.

"Of course I knew. I only ever won one when you'd won enough in a row that I started to get suspicious. I'm not an idiot."

"Never thought you were," Crowley says.

It strikes Aziraphale that if Gabriel said that to him, he's not sure he'd believe it, but with Crowley he doesn't doubt it for a second.

"Not sure what you're doing differently," the Angel in the control room says on the comms, "But your connection is much stronger today than usual."

Aziraphale looks at Crowley. Of _course_ it is. He's not sure how he ever doubted that this would work.

"Let's get out there and cancel the Apocalypse, shall we?" Crowley says. Aziraphale doesn't have to say anything for Crowley to know his answer.

* * *

They manage, somehow, to cancel the Apocalypse. Even Aziraphale isn't quite sure how, and he was there. Still, they did something, and it probably helped, and the world isn't ending, and that's enough for him.

Afterwards, they go together to their usual spot at the park.

"We should probably talk about some things, shouldn't we," Aziraphale says.

Crowley doesn't answer, not exactly, just makes a sort of noncommittal noise.

"You really see me as--" Aziraphale stops, waves his hands in an attempt to put the version of himself he'd seen in Crowley's head into words. The version of Aziraphale that exists in Crowley's head, the one he saw in the drift, feels like the best version of him: put together, dignified, charming, so much more than Aziraphale himself has ever felt. Crowley's version of him is soft, but in a good way. And all of Crowley's memories of him, _all of them_, even as far back as that first mission, are tinged with an overwhelming sense of--well, it would be presumptuous to call it _love_, so Aziraphale is going to call it _tenderness_. Whatever it is, it is definitely overwhelming. Aziraphale is overwhelmed.

"You think I'm _cool_?" Crowley says, interrupting Aziraphale's overwhelmedness quite rudely.

"Aren't you?"

"You think I'm cool, and confident, and clever. Angel, we've known each other forever; how on earth is _that_ the impression you have of me?"

"I've met you," Aziraphale says, shrugging. He _has_.

Crowley boggles at him. "No, what you think you met is some preposterous best version of me--"

"Yes," Aziraphale says, "You. I've met you."

Crowley doesn't say anything, just breathes out a disbelieving laugh.

"Crowley, you must know that I love you," Aziraphale says quietly.

Crowley smiles--a small, vulnerable smile. "I did pick that up, yes. And you know that I--"

"Yes," Aziraphale says, when Crowley is unable to finish his sentence. He does know. When he thinks about it, he's known for a very long time.

Crowley puts his hand over Aziraphale's, between them on the park bench. Aziraphale feels like he lights up at the touch. Carefully, he turns his hand over so they're palm to palm, and then entwines his fingers with Crowley's. He half-expects Crowley to withdraw, perhaps even to bolt, but he doesn't. They sit there, holding hands.

Aziraphale remembers now, Sandalphon saying that it was the end of the world as they knew it. Turns out that Sandalphon had been right. Turns out, maybe it's not such a bad thing after all.


End file.
